


Behind a closed door

by littlemotel



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3845722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemotel/pseuds/littlemotel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He owed everything to the man sleeping below him. That same debt makes him want nothing more than to wrap his hands around the man’s neck, choking him in his sleep and finishing what he set out to do over a decade ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind a closed door

**Author's Note:**

> This was written and finished a couple days before s01e20 (The Trap) was aired and not rewritten afterward, so there may be minor inconsistencies present. I decided against archive warning it under Rape/Non-Con since it's more of a generalized sexual assault.

“Hey, Dr. Wells, I’m gonna head out now!”

The doctor in question turns his head to his Cisco Ramone, one of his only two employees (now), as he leans from behind the doorway into the operational cortex area. Unlike the man’s past attempts at formal wear in the lab, his clothes were casual as he must have always wanted them to be in the workplace. Unfortunately, the way the laxer dress code came to be was one way no one would ever want. Still, it was nice to see someone still in good spirits around here. Employee number two, Caitlin Snow, came to work earlier despite being told multiple times she could take all the time she needed off. Of the three of them, she arguably lost the most in the tragedy. He took the time to voice that opinion today and she immediately pointed to his paralysis, saying that he lost just as much and was still coming in despite that. The cost of keeping secrets is you have to live within them; fold yourself into the lie and live it to hold up the illusion. He is now sitting in that lie and has to believe in it as much as everyone else does.

At the very least he convinced her to leave early after she accidentally stumbled upon a smaller project her fiance was working on just two weeks ago. For as guarded as Caitlin was with her emotions, she was clearly distressed and an edging step away from an outburst. In a rare display she swallowed her pride (and the tears forming in the corner of her eyes) and agreed, leaving him and Cisco alone for the rest of the day. Work could only distract one for so long and he knew that well. Work has been distracting him for thirteen long years of being marooned in a time not his own.

Now he has no need for distractions, thanks to the sleeping body that occupies a hospital bed in a lab room.

However now it was time for Cisco to go as the clock ticked toward six. Dr. Wells smiles softly and nods to the man. “Alright then, have a good evening Cisco. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cisco, however, doesn’t duck away and instead shoots his boss a confused look. “Are you not going too? I could give you a ride, y’know,” he says with a short pause, his gaze darting away for a second. “I mean, it must be hard to get around...with the chair and all.”

It comes out awkwardly and his eyes return to look at him apologetically, perhaps realizing how demeaning that must have sounded. Especially so soon after the accident that everyone believes crippled him. He would be offended if he was physically bound to the chair, but all things considered it doesn’t bother him. His hand flicks the switch on his chair to turn it in place so he can look at Cisco directly, noticing with ease the youth’s sudden discomfort with what he just said.

“Don’t worry Cisco, I’ll be fine,” he reassures with a simple hand wave and a soft voice, hoping he knows there was no harm in the misplaced words. Cisco always looks out for others before himself and it’s an admirable trait to have, even if he doesn’t always think before he speaks. “There’s a lot of work to sift through with everything that’s happened...and I need to put formula into Mr. Allen’s feeding tube for the evening anyways.”

His head turns to look over his shoulder to look toward that room, obscured from this point of view but it’s the gesture that counts more, before looking back to his worker. The man in that room has been in a coma for a week now and sometimes it slips the mind too easily, with all the more immediate problems cropping up like weeds. FEMA inspectors walking in daily with reports, a barrage of lawsuits coming in without pause, recently former employees stopping by to collect any belongings they may still have in the building while shooting him nasty glares. That’s only the short list too. When he told Cisco and Caitlin the plan to take Barry Allen for observation at S.T.A.R. Labs, there were immediate questions as to why. Why take in a stranger who was presumably affected by the Particle Accelerator blast? It wasn’t like he was the only one in the hospital because of that night, so what made him so special?

The way the lights blacked out in the hospital the moment the man went into cardiac arrest, flickering on again dimly when his pulse returned, helped to convince them that something else was going on. Something that needed to be studied and hopefully fixed. Managing to convince the skeptical father (he may not have called himself that, but it was more than clear to his eyes who Joe West was to Barry) to allow it was an undertaking and a worthwhile one when he won the man over. Now it was a matter of mending and waiting for the awakening of the man. A time he knew was not a matter of “if”, but a question of “when.”

“Dammit, knew I was forgetting something,” Cisco scoffed self-deprecatingly at his mistake. “I can do that right now before I leave.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I can handle it,” the doctor immediately counters, crossing his arms and canting his head to the side. “The traffic rush is gonna get underway soon, you should head out if you wanna get home fast. Don’t worry about it, I'll be fine.”

Cisco clacked his teeth, knowing his boss’ observation was right despite not being okay with leaving him alone, and nodded after a moment. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair then.”

He smiled. “You’re never in my hair, Cisco. Have a good night.”

The boy beamed a smile at the small show of approval. “You too, Dr. Wells. Night.”

With those parting words the man waved and ducked out of the doorway, heading to the elevator at the end of the hall. A couple seconds later the doctor moved his chair to exit the open space, so he could watch Cisco leave from afar. Seconds felt like minutes until the elevator doors opened and his employee stepped inside, a lengthy moment passing before they closed again. He allowed himself to let out a tense breath, finally alone, and gripped the arms of the chair so he could push off from the seat and stretch his legs properly. Keeping them still for that long was a painful endeavor, the muscles demanding motion after prolonged periods of time. He’ll have to continue practicing keeping still at his home to get his body accustomed to the unwelcomed position. Anyone suspects something, or if he makes a horrible mistake and slips up even subconsciously, and he’ll lose the last grains of credibility he has left. Credibility will make or break him, he knows well.

He walks around the chair and back into the cortex, giving it a glance around to observe the emptiness, and turns his sight to the door that Barry Allen sleeps behind. Slowly he walks up to it and puts a hand on the knob, but not turning just yet. Instead he breathes in silently, letting the cool feeling of the knob wash over his nerves, and only then opens it. Inside, as expected, is the comatose man resting in a hospital bed the genetics division of the lab once used for examinations. Now their new experiment of a sort was recovering in it.

Eobard Thawne steps in, taking even paced steps that barely echo in the room, and goes up to the bed to look up close at the peaceful rest of his enemy. A predator stalking his prey, smiling coyly as his eyes ran up and down and took him in. His hand reaches up and slides his glasses off, closes and tucks them into the pocket of his jeans. He then reaches into the opposite pocket to pull out a switchblade. It’s been at least a week now - this should be safe to do without anyone noticing and he has to be certain everything is in order.

Carefully he pulls away the sheets and lifts the gown covering the man’s torso, careful not to move the feeding tube stuck inside his stomach. Below the waist he is covered by a pair of pants, but he’s more interested in the area above it as he looks for a place to cut. He chooses the soft fleshy area above the hip on the side and gently slices a cut into it, gliding the knife along the skin and opening it up. A shallow cut, one that causes no stir in the body even as blood begins to seep out.

Afterwards he clicks the knife close and pockets it again, turning to the nearest workbench to search for a gauze. He grabs one from a box and presses it over the wound, letting it soak up the trickling blood, and raises his unoccupied left arm to glance at his watch. 6:07:41 PM. He mentally takes note and turns his eyes back to the wound.

“One, two, three, four…”

Under his breath he counts the seconds up to ten and removes the gauze to check on the wound. Still visible, no signs of healing. He covers it up and repeats the count to ten. Gauze removed - hemostasis has now begun and the blood is clotting to seal the wound. Repeat again, ten seconds later and nothing has changed. Once more - the bleeding has stopped. He takes the gauze off and tosses it over his shoulder carelessly, looking at his watch again. 6:08:23 PM. Less than a minute and Barry Allen’s body has clogged up a shallow wound that would take a normal body up to ten minutes to do. Incredible. Rapid cellular regeneration is already functioning perfectly even with the body comatose. He hopes this means the speedster won’t be asleep for too long.

Satisfied he crosses the room and goes to the small work sink, taking a napkin from the side to dab with water, and goes back to wipe the not yet dried blood off the body. By tomorrow morning the wound will be only a faint scar blending into the skin, not deep enough to leave any noticeable imprint. Caitlin, distracted by her steamrolling attempts to ignore her grief, is expected to either miss it or not think anything of it. Once finished the napkin, along with the gauze he flung at the floor, are then tossed out into the nearest garbage can and he strides back up to Barry afterward.

“Good news, Barry, your body seems to have acclimated as it should to your new powers,” he says with a tepid cheer in his voice, a doctor congratulating the patient for being in good health. “How long it’ll be until you wake up is uncertain for now, but I’m going to make an educated guess...seven to ten months?”

He doesn’t think it’ll be more than a year, but he isn’t confident on half a year either. Certainly he’ll be up before the end of 2014, in the mid-fall or early winter time. There’s no response from Barry, but he’s not expecting one. It’s so rare that he has a chance to talk _at_ Barry without him interrupting in some inane way. Be it with an attack or a general insult hurled his way, born out of an outburst of anger and lacking in bite because of it. He crosses his arms loosely and makes a low hum. Thirteen years, all made up of waiting and working until the day he met Barry Allen. The day is still off in a way, but this is a satisfying consolation for the time being.

“You know, it’s strange - all those years ago I rushed to your house with only the thought of killing you in mind. Ending the long...let’s call it rivalry, that we’ve had. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but that fight was far more brutal than I thought.”

A soft laugh trickles out, mocking his foolishness in memory. How absolutely pointless that fight seems now is beyond him. If he had won like he wanted, he would have been stuck here for good and it would perhaps be a just punishment for murdering his opposite. No more Flash, no more Reverse Flash - simple logic he failed to grasp when he ripped through time and launched himself through the window of the Allen house.

He takes a gentle breath in through his mouth, letting the last of his amusement fade off. “Now...Now I’m here, taking care of you while you recover. Ridiculous, don’t you think?” He shrugs a little. “Not only am I stuck here because of my miscalculation, but I also have to keep _you_ alive while I start getting the speedforce siphoned back into my cells.”

And he can already feel it too. Faint, but it’s there, blitzing through his body and demanding release. Just being near Barry is letting him feed off, a parasitic battery taking from the generator, but he knows the most absorption comes when Barry is actually tapping into the speedforce in proximity to him. That’s going to have to wait until later, but even the small amounts are a relief to have. He’s missed it, truly, the feeling of lightning coursing through his veins, through his being, charging him.

Eobard smiles and puts a hand on the man’s chest, feeling it rise and fall and thrum with energy inside. Their dual connection to the speedforce, and his particular negative version of it, allowed him to feel the energy within Barry and know where he is at any time. He wonders if Barry will be capable of tuning into speedforce energy around him the same way, as he slowly learns about his powers and begins to comprehend the magnificent changes he has gone through. If that happens, if he learns how to sense speedforce outside his body, the secret will be out rather quick. If not, he can keep up the charade for as long as he sees fit. There are no plans to make Barry suspect anything outright, but plans change and he knows he will need to change with them. It’s much easier when people don’t act out, but people are more complex than a carved chess piece.

“You won’t understand it, at first, but you’ll learn in time the power you possess,” he explains, uncertain if he can even be heard. “The change you will present to the whole world...you will change everything people understand about the world.”

Without removing his hand he leans down and smiles sweetly, his other hand turning to glide the joints of his fingers on the cheek on his foe, turning it after a moment to swipe the pads of his fingertips over the same area and finish off by holding Barry’s chin under his loose grasp.

“You will be a force of nature itself,” he says with a flicker of a smile and is then reminded of something unsavory. “Now, I want you to know something and this is important. Many recognize the Arrow as the first masked hero and that is true, on a _technical_ level.” He speaks with a harsh stress on ‘technical’ in particular, because it’s important to note. “However in the minds of many, mine included, you are the first true hero. The Arrow may have inspired the age of heroes, but you Barry...the Flash will revolutionize it. Jumpstart it. Take it out of the dark and into the light, where it deserves to be.”

Long ago he denied he had any tiny modicum of affection, even infatuation, toward his hated enemy. The man who was everything he wasn’t, in all the ways that really mattered. With time he’s come to terms with it and now revels in that freedom. There’s no need to deny it because it doesn’t change things - it only intensifies them. The rush of pummeling him at high speed, the two of them exchanging blows filled with both bloodlust and defiance. The thrill of watching him suffer, knowing that he’s the one who caused the immense grief and pain. It gave him a sense of self that he always lacked and longed for, before he became the antithesis of the Flash. Being the Reverse Flash gave him an understanding of the world he could never have without taking that role, a purpose as he rushed on the bolts of lightning sparking below his feet. It made him feel complete.

Barry Allen completed him. Fulfilled him and corrupted him in equal amounts. He owed everything to the man sleeping below him. That same debt makes him want nothing more than to wrap his hands around the man’s neck, choking him in his sleep and finishing what he set out to do over a decade ago. Yet, he could not. For who would he be without Barry Allen? He would only be Eobard Thawne and he doesn’t truly know who that is. He knows The Flash and he knows The Reverse Flash just as well.

Quietly he sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, thinking again (as he has for the past week) of what it’ll be like when Barry wakes up. From what he was told by the Wests, Barry was an avid fan of his. Read every book he could find about him, followed all news on the Particle Accelerator for months before its ill-fated launch, even came to S.T.A.R. Labs on the night of the activation, but wasn’t able to stick around for the bang. Once more, as it always seemed to be, things between them were in reverse. Now Barry was the silent but devoted admirer, observing his hero and wishing to be beside him. Barry was the one who wanted a friend and partner in Harrison Wells. In Eobard Thawne.

Will Barry hang upon his every word, just as he once hung upon the words of any scrap of literature he could find about Barry? The thought makes his body shiver in anticipation, a nervous flutter going through his bones, and he wishes Barry would just wake up right now so he wouldn’t be left with racing imagination alone. That Barry Allen thinks the world of him, looks at him like a personal hero - he knows other people think (or _thought_ ) that of him, but for it to be Barry. For it to be the hero he once worshipped in centuries old pages. It made him reel in desire.

He opens his eyes and takes his hands off Barry, but does not lean back and away. He knows how dangerous these thoughts are, how they can turn him from calculated to obsessed in less than a second. The danger did not make him turn away, only enticed him to get in deeper. His favorite games were the ones with the highest risk because they always promised the highest reward and the highest consequence. He did not shy away; he challenged that danger and that fear and no one plays to lose. The race, he thinks, should be as much fun as crossing the finish line and placing first. Barry Allen is the second place loser and beating his hero is always a pleasure. However this game of thirteen years and counting has gone on long enough. He’s about ready to cross that line now, but this last stretch will be the most fun now that his competitor is about to finally enter the race. Also the most risky, where any small mistake can compromise him at any moment.

“I swear Barry Allen...the things you do to me,” he quietly spats with a broken chuckle, finding sudden amusement in his depravity. The thoughts racing through his head and strangling his body with desire were becoming overwhelming now. “You’re not even aware that I’m standing over you right now and you’re still getting inside of my head. How do you manage it?”

His fingers flex into his palms and loosen again, his tongue swiping over his slightly chapped lips, and he realizes he has to take care of himself. The human body is such a damnable thing sometimes, though he can’t complain too much. He has rarely felt an urge in the past decade, too focused on the work and too disgusted by this century to engage in the carnal pleasures of the body. Yes he’s had minor flings here and there, he’s only human, but never made promises of something serious and left at any sign that the other person wanted more. It let him retain an eligible bachelor status that he enjoyed, purposefully keeping himself private and distant in all matters of love in order to be more desirable. Not because he wanted to be desired, but because he loved how it stoked his ego. People want what they can’t have, this is true for all things, and he can’t honestly claim to be any different. Barry Allen was all he wanted, in ways that he continues to discover constantly, but he knows he can only have him as an enemy and nothing more.

The thought that he could ever deny his obsession once upon a time seems laughable now. He is freed by the admission, not held back by it.

His left hand reaches out to slide into Barry’s hair and begins to card through the locks, massaging the scalp underneath and relishing in the softness. His right hand reaches to his pants and loosens the belt open, so he can zip down and reach into his boxers. He inhales a sharp breath when he feels just how hard he is, foolishly distracted by his thoughts and failing to notice it until now, and lets that breath out when he pulls it out of the fabric. The cool air of the lab hitting it makes him shudder, but doesn’t deter him from wrapping his hand around his dick and begin to get himself off.

As he slides his closed hand up and down, slow for now, he lets his left hand ghost away from Barry’s hair to his face. The soft caress he takes going down from the temple, to the cheek, to the chin, contrasts the rough grip he has around his dick that keeps getting faster and stronger. His breath hitches when the soft pad of his thumb accidentally brushes over the slit of his dick, and his left hand glides a finger over Barry’s lips. Sometimes, in the most intense battles he’s had against the Flash, he’s thought what it would be like to smash his lips against his enemy’s and have the same pushing force returned. What would it be like to fuck another speedster, who can go almost as fast as him, to share that thrumming electricity that runs through both of their veins? Would he absorb that power the same way he does whenever they run side by side? It’s something he’ll never know, something he can never experience, and it maddens him because the thought alone chokes him in ecstasy.

He realizes his jerking is growing faster with every new idea that enters his mind and perverts his thoughts. Swallowing tightly, his fingers leave Barry’s lips and glide down again to his chest, the hand sliding over the gown (still careful to avoid where the tube is attached, not too far gone to know better) and taking in the lukewarm heat of the skin. He’s so warm and he thinks it may have to do with all the energy building up inside him, the power begging to come out and be used. It’s been years since he’s seen Barry run and he’ll see the sight again soon enough and he knows it’ll be a moment like none other. Getting to see Barry Allen discover his abilities for the first time ever, starting from the bottom and going to the top. Being there to see his hero grow and learn, win and lose, and he’ll be there every step of the way by his side.

His eyes shut again tight and wills the hand he’s getting off on to vibrate. There is a short delay, as he taps into the little speedforce he’s gained back so far, but when it hits the sensation forces out a depraved, guttural groan from the deepest parts of his core. He’s forgotten what it’s like to use even the slightest bit of his power and he wasn’t expecting it to be so fucking gratifying. So right, so breathtakingly amazing. He bites his lower lip and wills a weaker vibration this time in his hand, his throat releasing an airy moan when the soft buzz spreads to his dick. Absolutely stunning.

What little conscious thought he has now informs him that he won’t last much longer, his breaths turning into slow ragged pants. It feels like he’s going a mile a minute and he may as well be. From the chest his hand trails down to the waist and presses down against the spot between Barry’s legs. Obviously Barry isn’t hard, or even reacting to the touch physically, but he can feel the groin clothed behind the fabric and that’s enough. Everything he wants, everything he can’t have, is laid out in front of him for the first time. He can do anything to Barry Allen and he would never be wise to it. The footage can be erased from the cameras and he can have this moment and more all to himself. A private pleasure he can indulge in for as long as he likes. Or at least until 9AM rolls around and his employees come in. Anytime between 6 PM to 9 AM in this lab is his, his alone with Barry. For the first time, he hopes his prediction about it taking less than a year for Barry to wake up is wrong. The thought is immediately discarded in the next moment as ludicrous (he has to focus, he can’t indulge just because he _can_ ) but he could live with this. Having Barry Allen at his mercy, to do everything he pleases to him, everything he ever fantasized about in his life.

It’s that skin crawling thought that sends him over the edge and he moves so he can spill his cum all over the side of Barry’s face. It doesn’t all land there because of the position he’s in, but oh what does spill is a beautiful sight to behold. He allows himself to admire it as he winds down, the primal instincts he acted upon fading to the back of his mind and sated for the time being. He takes his hand off Barry and zips himself back in, quickly stumbling to the sink to wash his hands of his cum and then splashing water on his face afterward. On his way back he wets a napkin and takes one last good look at Barry’s face, partly covered by white patches that came from him, before cleaning it off.

He pulls the bed covers over Barry’s body again, tucking him in, and soothes a hand through the man’s hair tenderly. Like shushing a lover after a moment of intimacy. “Barry Allen, I really can’t wait for you to meet me. The real me, that is,” he corrects quickly, as if there’s any reason to do so, and sighs wistfully. “I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time…ah, but patience still.”

He should get going home, but before he does he has to take care of the feeding. Barry’s body won’t be of any good to him if it dies from hunger. The bag is retrieved from its spot and the process of attaching it to the tube is quick and easy, done in just a few minutes. Truly it wouldn’t have taken any time for Cisco to do it last second, but then he wouldn’t have gotten this private moment. It was just as he hoped when he noticed Cisco had missed the regular five o’clock time to attach up a new bag for the evening and made the sudden decision to not remind him.

Finished, he steps back and watches as the tube begins to administer the contents into Barry’s body. His left arm raises so he can check the time: 6:53:26 PM. Tsk. He’s spent too much time here.

He looks back down at Barry, still smiling laxly. “We’ll do this again sometime. Maybe on the weekend?” His smile turns toothy and he leans down to press his lips against Barry’s in a chaste and brief kiss. He could do more, he knows, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying or fun without some resistance and push back. Still it sends a fresh jolt through him to feel the contact of skin, if only for a couple seconds.

Once done he takes his glasses out of his pocket and wears them again, leaving Barry’s bedside and walking back to the door. Before he leaves he turns a glance over his shoulder again and smiles, the boy still peacefully resting behind him, and leaves him be.


End file.
